


Me Against The World

by IWriteSinsNotStraightLines



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Some angst, Stiles Stilinski is Derek Hale's Anchor, Stiles and Derek Worry About Each Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:14:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26059327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWriteSinsNotStraightLines/pseuds/IWriteSinsNotStraightLines
Summary: Stiles is irrefutably, painfully human.This much Derek knows.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 10
Kudos: 235





	Me Against The World

**Author's Note:**

> What's up, everybody? I hope everybody is doing well.  
> Here's another one-shot because apparently I'm actually incapable of working on my chaptered WIPs. I'm trying to get one of them done to post, I swear. Hopefully I get that, and a Thiam fic that I've been promising my beta out soon.  
> I think this is like the first time I've written something in present tense in a LONG TIME so let me know if you see anything that I missed that's in past tense.  
> On with the tale!

Stiles is irrefutably, _painfully_ human. 

This much Derek knows. 

He’s breakable-- if he gets shot, or takes a few too many hits, he won’t be coming back from it. It won’t take him an hour to heal from a concussion, or an evening to get over a knife wound. 

What takes Derek only moments, only days can take Stiles weeks, months. 

Or worse, he’ll never heal at all. Not like Derek, who could get his brains blown out and still have a fighting chance. 

Not like Derek at all. 

He’s hopeful too, which is something Derek is starting to believe is more a human trait than a werewolf one. He hasn’t any extra hope to give, but Stiles always seems to have plenty-- oceans, universes full of belief and light and life hiding behind his chest like something precious. No one has as much hope as he does. Especially not Derek. 

He’s _human._

Derek taps his foot, irritable and about ready to jump out of his skin. That would be a bad idea here, in the hospital-- even though Beacon Hills General has seen some strange and unexplainable occurrences, he’s fairly sure a man turning into a great beast of a black wolf in their lobby would turn some heads. 

So he waits. He waits, and he holds on desperately to the little bit of hope he has, and combines it with some he’s gotten from Stiles. He keeps it inside, close to his heart, like an anchor. 

Like his _real_ anchor isn’t three rooms down the hallway, _dying_. 

He shudders, digging his claws into his palms until they sink back into his nail beds. Control, control, _control_. 

Stiles is human, but he’s not. 

This much Derek knows. 

So he’s the one left, abandoned and wondering, in the hospital waiting room while he keeps an ear on Stiles’ weak, wavering pulse and questions what he’ll be without him. He’s the one that will have to go to the den and tell his pups, his pack- _their_ pups, _their_ pack- that Stiles is never going home. That they’ll have to attend his funeral. That it’s Derek’s _fault_. 

It’s on _him_ , because he’s not _human_ , but Stiles can’t seem to understand. 

Derek’s mouth quirks into a bitter half-smile when he thinks of his reaction to Derek’s side of this argument-- one they’ve had too many times before. How he flailed more when he got frustrated. How his eyes burned gold like the sun when Derek refused to agree with him. 

Because he was _wrong_. 

To Stiles, it doesn’t _matter_ that Derek’s not human. It doesn’t make a difference that he could walk out of a disaster, bloody and broken, and seem unscathed hours later. It doesn’t change that, even though he _can_ take bullets and knives and anything else thrown his way, he shouldn’t _have_ to. 

Why? Because Stiles loved- loves, loved?- him, and he wasn’t going to let the world hurt him anymore. 

Derek wishes he could’ve promised the same thing. 

Stiles is human. He’s stubborn. He’s relentless. He’s _vulnerable_. 

Derek starts to clench his jaw, teeth gritting together as he wills his fangs to stay hidden, when Melissa finally walks back down the hall she had wheeled Stiles down earlier in the night. 

He’s afraid to look up at her- afraid that there will be pity and hurt on her face- but he does it anyway, the anticipation stinging. 

She gives him a weak smile, and offers him her hand, sneaking him into Stiles’ room because he’s only supposed to have family in there right now. 

Derek _is_ his family. 

Seeing Stiles- his mate, his love, his own, hooked up to various machines and tubes, looking pale and sickly- in the hospital bed drives a crack through his heart. He can feel it, a physical ache, like he’s sharing all the pain Stiles must be in. 

He ignores the soft click of the door shutting, and pulls up a chair beside Stiles, sitting. 

His eyes sting, but he knows he won’t cry. 

He can’t, not when Stiles is the one wounded and he’s just fine. 

Derek gently pushes some of his hair back out of his face, knowing how much he hates it. 

Stiles blinks his eyes open slowly, giving Derek a small grin as he croaks, “Hey, Der.” 

“Hi, baby. How’re you feeling?” 

Stiles squints, making a face, “Kinda like I got hit by a truck. Did I get hit by a truck?” 

Derek laces his fingers in with Stiles’s, squeezing his hand, “No. But you did get shot.” 

Stiles hums, nodding like that explained everything. 

Derek tries not to dwell on the fact that Stiles had been shot enough times prior for it _to_ make sense. 

“You’re so stupid, you know that?” Derek whispers, voice brittle and affectionate. 

He’s smiling- though it was small and watery- but he doesn’t know if it’s because he doesn’t have to bury Stiles or because he has someone who cares enough to take a bullet for him. 

Stiles peers up at him with big, brown doe eyes, “I’m gonna be okay, Der.” 

“How do you know that?” 

Stiles’ lips curl up fondly at the corner, warmth at the edges of his features, “Because you always smile like you’re about to cry when I’m gonna be okay. Like it hurts to see me in pain but you’re happy I’m not dead.” 

Derek’s breath shudders out of him, but he takes Stiles’ hand- _gently_ , so gently, as tender and calm as he can manage- in his and clings to it, nosing at bruised knuckles until his scent fills his lungs. 

Stiles uses his grip to insistently tug him forward until he’s leaning over and meeting him half-way, their mouths moving together smoothly. 

The kiss _does_ something to Derek, deep within his chest, carving out a space for Stiles to take as his own, staking a claim that he isn’t so sure he’s ready to think about yet. 

He squeezes Stiles’ hand as he draws back, the warmth of his breath fanning over Derek’s face as they remain close. He studies the amber of his irises as he settles back down into his chair, the corners of his lips tugging up of their own accord when Stiles gives him another smile, shining with something like love. 

Something like a promise.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that is that. I hope you all liked it :)  
> Feedback is always, always appreciated. Let me know what you think.  
> Until next time!  
> -Sins 
> 
> Find my Tumblr at: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/iwritesinsnotstraightlines


End file.
